There is something odd about waking up in the morning, the morning after you've had people over for dinner and the rooms and halls and kitchen and back porch had been crowded with various discussions and creative processes. Around the house there are little reminders, the aluminum to be crushed, the vinyl to be re-sleeved, someone's odd sock in the hallway. There are some things so inexplicable, though, as to be nothing more than something to marvel at. Some things are not to be cleaned up or tidied. Some things are not to be corrected or returned. Some things, in the fog of waking up in the morning, reduce one to such perplexed laughter and mirth so as to become the hair of the dog, the same that kept one up late revisiting in the morning. These things are not so predictable.
The story goes from baby shower and dolls necessary for the game and having to mend the arm of one removed in the process of destroying the net that holds the stuffed creatures off the floor, and the other doll whose mending is not quite so simple a cure as a bit of thread or a safety pin and suddenly the head of said second doll is being passed around the room likened to the creature from
Toy Story and other toy disasters. I wake up to find this. Is it irony that the sculpture is missing its leg?
Auto no flash. The light was too nice today, and the flash made it look creepier, if you can believe that.
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Check the sidebar. New game! Yay, Games! Winners, too, if'n anyone actually plays with me.
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